


The Promise

by OceanTheSoulRebel



Series: A Healing Touch [4]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Fenders, Harm to Anders, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Pain, Templars, Tranquility, lots of pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 18:58:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14479092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OceanTheSoulRebel/pseuds/OceanTheSoulRebel
Summary: Tranquility leaves life peaceful only to the man or spirit bearing the brand. A promise given in good faith is a promise owed, and it is just to fulfill them - no matter how painful.





	The Promise

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [not this, anything but this](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/376896) by Nerime. 



> Check out the artist and artwork: [Nerime](http://nerime.tumblr.com/post/112998370019/not-this-anything-but-this-so-what-if-justice).

He had never hated lyrium more.

Not when it had been burned into his flesh, all those years ago. Not when it carved away his memories, his family, his life. Not even when it pulled and coursed under his skin, threatening to split him open, to tear him apart.

Fenris stared in horror as Hawke led the mage out from the bloody hall, bodies strewn in the path behind them.

“Anders…”

_ “Anders is gone. Only Justice remains.” _

“How?” Hawke demanded. Cried. Raged. Hawke shook the serene man by his feather-clad shoulders, begging, pleading for a response. For answers. For retribution, for vengeance.

For justice.

Fenris only stared. Justice, peering out from Anders’ face, glowed lyrium-blue under the sunburst brand that marked his brow, and unflinchingly met his gaze.

* * *

“Anders.”

_ “Justice.” _

Fenris shook his head. It had been weeks since they had returned from the Gallows through the labyrinthine maze under the city; they even crawled through the door Anders had revealed to them years ago, during a hunt for information on the mounting incidents of Tranquility at the Gallows. Hawke set Anders - for surely he was still Anders, somehow, somewhere behind the lyrium brand - in one of the many bedrooms at the empty Amell estate, but couldn’t yet come to face that blank stare, the neutral, direct expression.

Fenris could just barely stand it, himself.

He shook his head again.  _ “Anders,” _ he insisted once more, though it never made a difference.

Justice stared ahead, stilled and idle in the plush chair by the fire. Fenris closed the bedroom door behind him and stepped quietly to the nearby table, the dinner plate in hand rattling against the wood where he placed it.

Fenris had stayed up for days watching him - this man, who was his friend, his enemy, his rival, his companion, his lover. Justice hardly moved, unless directed. Ate perfunctorily when Fenris or Varric brought him his meals. Bathed when needed, every motion efficient and spartan in form. Slept without the thrashing of nightmares. There were no complaints, no backtalk, no sarcasm or biting remarks. No affection, no closeness, no warmth, no relief, no joy.

There was no Anders.

“How, Justice?” he finally asked, curling into the chair opposite the spirit, hating the uncertainty in his voice, unsure he even wanted to know, but he needed to hear it. “How did this happen?”

_ “They caught Anders as he worked. He heard plate, footsteps, and thought it was you, or Hawke. He had been expecting you. He did not hide in time.” _

Fenris sagged at the words, the blunt edges of his armor digging into his hips, his thighs, his shoulders as he curled in on himself. There was no accusation in his tone but Justice’s words sank like a knife into his gut, twisting and tearing. He stared at the spirit, his eyes wandering over that familiar face.

The light that once could scorch a room in brilliant blue-white rays was only calm since their return. The brand pulsed sluggishly, but there was no angry crack of the Fade coursing through this body now. The light was soft, dreamlike.

Dead.

When the spirit sat by the fire he looked almost human again, awash in the orange-red hues of the flames. He had known Anders in those tones; Fenris had loved his skin flushed red from the sun, from the heat of a fire, from the low promise of a quiet word. If Fenris focused more on the firelight, he could almost see Anders in the chair before him.

But he wasn’t. Fenris clenched his fists, the claws of his gauntlets piercing unheeded into his palms. “And they took him. To the Gallows.” His throat was dry. Maker, how he needed a drink. Wine. The malted piss Corff called ale at the Hanged Man. Anything to make this easier.

_ “Yes.” _

He wanted to scream, to shout, to rend every Templar in Kirkwall limb from damned limb. His fingers itched to burrow and tear and leave bodies bloodied, empty, just as empty as his lover.  

_ You will never take another mage as you took him, _ the spirit once vowed upon seeing the sunburst brand on another. His voice used to rattle stone foundations, power coursing through the air around him, each oath a promise. Where was that power now?

Fenris fisted his hands in his hair, pulling sharply at the long white strands. “How did you let this happen? How could you let them take him? You swore, Justice. ‘You will never take another mage;’ where were you when they came for him?” He could hear the hysteria cracking through his voice, fragile and brittle in his own ears, like steel overworked and impure, ready to shatter at the first impact.

He looked at the spirit, willing him to become angry - to be offended, hurt, to rage against his accusation. To react, to fight, to do anything.

Justice only met his gaze with wide, blank eyes. “ _ They Silenced Anders. Cast their Smite. Assaulted him. He was powerless before I could react, and soon we were incapacitated.”  _ Justice blinked. There were no words of guilt there, no hurt or betrayal.  _ “They had found us out, and wanted to see if they could manipulate us for our power. To see if there was anything they could learn, could use. They had us subdued, and then they bound my strength, and then they had him branded.” _

A long string of curses poured from his mouth. The tips of his gauntlets dug painfully into his scalp and he could feel blood dribbling through his hair. He tore his hands away and stood, nearly falling when his legs threatened to buckle.

“Anders,” he started, chest tightening at Justice’s emotionless correction. Fenris swallowed the lump in his throat and made his way to the mage before him, standing over him and searching those empty, white eyes for the smallest hint of amber.

His whole body shook. He wanted to throw himself at Anders’ - no,  _ Justice’s _ \- feet, to sob into his loose pants. To hold him, to feel his skin under his hands again, to safeguard him from the world once more. Fenris brushed his palm lightly over Justice’s unbound hair, such a familiar burnished gold, now forever alien.

“Anders, finish your damn manifesto. Just… be annoying again.” Justice stared at him blankly, not bothering to correct him. “Say something. Anders…” The hysteria was back, and he was begging for the first time in almost a decade. _Please, Anders._

_ “I do not know what you want me to say.” _

He closed his eyes. If he didn’t think about it, he could see Anders there, his easy smile, his warm gaze. Fenris carefully smoothed his hand over Justice’s hair.

“I don’t know, either,” Fenris admitted softly. “Please eat your dinner, I’ll be back for your plate.” He sighed and turned, slow steps taking him to the door. His hand stilled on the doorknob for a moment before he spoke again, unable to face him again. “I’m sorry, Anders. I’m so sorry to you both.”

* * *

He hadn’t been back for two days. Two long, torturous days, a nightmare of guilt, of self-loathing, of rage and wrath and a need for vengeance, burning like acid inside his skin.

Fenris stared vacantly at the wine bottle in his bare hand.  _ Maybe this was how they felt, or close to it. _

He understood so much more, now, and it was too late.

“Fenris.”

Hawke knocked on the open door and entered at Fenris’ nod. “I suppose that’s it,” he said wearily, eyes puffy and red. The man slumped into the nearby chair, holding his head in his hands. “That’s… that’s the last of us.”

Fenris raised the bottle to his lips and swallowed the last of the dark liquid, willing the alcohol’s heat to fill the emptiness in his stomach.

“I’m… I’ll let you know when it’s done,” he said gruffly, the first words he’d spoken from a throat torn raw with grief. He grimaced at the foreign sound of his voice. “I’ll need your help with what comes after.”

“Aveline will help take care of things.” Hawke rose as Fenris slid from the bed to his feet. “We’re… I can do this for you, Fenris,” he offered, not for the first time.

Fenris shook his head. “I made a promise. I have to do this.” He pulled on his knife belt, his fingers methodically checking over the thin blade that settled at his hip.

Hawke’s hand rose to rest on Fenris’ shoulder. “You’re a good man, Fenris.” His eyes shone with tears.

He only shook his head and pulled himself from Hawke’s hand.

Fenris ignored the trembling of his body as he stepped across the hallway. He paused at the door, his fingers reaching back to his hip once more, before moving into the bedroom.

The spirit was in his usual seat beside the fire, staring into the flames.

“Justice.”

_ “Fenris.” _

He sat down on the chair opposite of the spirit and watched as Justice turned the chair to face him, just as he had every day for the last few weeks.

_ “You did not visit.” _

Fenris pressed his lips into a tight line. “I needed time.”

_ “Everyone else visited. Some cried. Some told stories. But you did not come.” _

He didn’t know how to answer the question that wasn’t asked, so he didn’t.

“Where is he, Justice?” he asked instead. The question dwelled on his mind, weighing heavily on his heart since the night they returned to the estate, after the spirit’s ominous words. 

_ “I can no longer sense Anders in this mind. I believe he may have broken under the care of the Templars.”  _

Fenris hung his head. It didn’t matter, ultimately, but his heart twisted all the same. “Do you remember what Anders asked me, years ago?” he asked softly. “We had moved a handful of mages out of the city. Aveline helped us secure the right paperwork, and your - Anders’ - contact smuggled the men and women down to the docks in the middle of the night. Anders couldn’t relax until he saw those ships pass through the gates and over the horizon.”

Justice nodded.  _ “I remember.” _

“He made me promise, Justice. Is it… is it _just_ to keep a promise, even when everything in you says it is wrong?” He pulled his chair closer to the spirit, their knees brushing together. Fenris reached out and twined his fingers with Justice’s hand. “Is it?”

The spirit looked down at their joined hand for a moment and back up to Fenris’ face.  _ “Keeping a sworn oath is right,” _ he confirmed, in the same expressionless voice.  _ “You are crying.” _

“Yes.”

_ “It is time.” _

“Yes.”

Fenris stood and tugged Justice to do the same, embracing him tightly. “I need you to know, mage, wherever you are in there.” His arms squeezed around Justice’s ribs. “I need you to know that we tried. Hawke and Merrill searched for any scrap of information they could. I searched the Black Emporium for answers, but even Xenon didn’t have anything useful. We even wrote to Carver, on the off-chance the Wardens know something we don’t. Neither Isabela or Varric had heard of anything that could help, and none of your... “

He choked on a sob, clutching the mage to him even closer. “None of Anders’ contacts in the Underground know of anyway to reverse the Rite, but they are looking. They will find a way someday, thanks to you two.”

Justice’s hands stiffly rose to rest on Fenris’ back, alien and familiar all the same and leaving him broken with every fumbled touch. Fenris burrowed his head into the crook of Justice’s shoulder.

“What were his last words, Justice?”

_ “He thought of you. He knew you would come, and that you would keep your promise. His last thoughts were apologies for making you swear such an oath. Anders’ last words were that he loved you.” _

Tears pooled in the hollow of Justice’s neck, dropping down over a bared collarbone. He could feel them streaming down his cheek but he could not stop.

“Do you have any?”

_ “I value the love you gave him, and your consideration for me. You are a good man. You and he - and you and I - disagreed often, but you strove for justice in your own ways. I know you are a good man, Fenris. He loved you with everything he had, and would have given everything for you.” _

Fenris took a half-step back to creep his right hand to his hip, silently drawing out the blade. The fingers of his free hand cupped the familiar jawline, molding there as it had thousands of times before.

“I loved him, too.”

He pushed the familiar burn outward, lighting his own lyrium brands. The room glowed with ethereal light and Justice sighed, ever so quietly, the last remnant of the comfort the spirit once took in the Fade made flesh on his skin. The brand on Justice’s brow glimmered and pulsed.

Fenris held his white-blue gaze and slid the knife home, just as he had promised to do. Together they collapsed to their knees, clutching at each other. Fenris helped him to the floor, golden hair spread in a loose halo in front of the fire. A flash of amber ghosted over empty eyes for a moment before they closed.

_ Thank you _ , voiceless lips mouthed, as the light faded from the spirit’s skin.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if I made you cry. I made me cry, if it makes anyone feel better. 
> 
> Comments always welcome and very much appreciated! Find me on tumblr: [ocean-in-my-rebel-soul](http://ocean-in-my-rebel-soul.tumblr.com)


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